


Perfect Ten

by ButterflyGhost



Series: Comedies, crossovers, and other weird anomalies. [8]
Category: due South
Genre: 2012 Summer Olympics, Comedy, M/M, Sex, Wu Minxia, barfight, guilty!Fraser, jealous!Ray
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A salutory tale, which warns of the evils of alchohol, as illustrated by rampaging elephants, a blood bath, and an alternative Chinese lexicon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Ten

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Perfect Ten: Snippet](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/10711) by butterflyghost. 



> Warnings for sex, violence, and vile, vile language. The vile language is mainly in Chinese, but just so you know... There are at least a billion people out there who could be offended. To whom I also apologise for my rubbish keyboard not allowing me to get the tones right. No insult to anyone's actual ancestors is implied, nor should it be inferred.

“I do not believe you, Fraser.” Ray thumped Fraser's arm to demonstrate just how much he didn't believe him. It wasn't that they were in a bar. It wasn't that Fraser was kicking back in his civvies, looking sexy as all hell, drinking beer... okay, only a few sips so far, but hey, for Fraser that was practically binge drinking.

 

No, what was doing Ray's nut in was the fact that Fraser was cheering for China. In an American bar. IN Chinese. And didn't seem to notice that every red-blooded American male in the place, including Ray, wanted to kill him. Though that cute little Chinese barmaid was looking at him like she wanted to ravish him on the spot. And if she made one more flirty sounding comment in Chinese, and if Fraser gave her one more of his glowing smiles and sexy sounding 'I'm so smart, I'm multilingual' replies Ray was gonna have to kill him.

 

Which would kinda suck, 'cause he'd never get laid again.

 

Oh. And yeah, he'd be executed. Which would kinda suck...

 

The barmaid leant across to Fraser, laughed, and swept her hair over her ear. Fraser smiled back, said something in a sing song way that did all kindsa funny to Ray's insides. Bastard Mountie. Fraser pretended to be innocent, looked up at the screen, took an actual swig of his beer, licked a drop of it from his lip...

 

Great. Now Ray was thinking about Fraser's tongue, wanting to add the barmaid to his murder spree, and wondering when the hell he figured out what multilingual meant, let alone cunnilingus. Oh yeah, he read that one in 'The Joy of Sex' when he was seventeen, pretending to do his homework at the library, and figuring out the mysteries of the Stella.

 

Never did figure that one out, but he'd sure had fun trying.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. A merciless image flashed on his mind, Fraser and the barmaid on top of the bar, shoving all the drinks to the floor, Fraser leaning over her on his elbows, focussing that dazzling grin on her (hey, asshole, that's my grin) before dipping his head down between her legs to...

 

Shit. He had a hard-on. In what had to be the straightest fucking bar in America. He gave Fraser the filthiest expression he could muster, but Fraser, the bastard, seemed oblivious. Yeah, right... he was obviously doing this to torture him. Getting his own back, just because he hadn't wanted to go to a sports bar in the first place.

 

“Ray, I don't believe my experience of the Olympics will be in anyway enhanced by going to a bar. We could simply watch our chosen sports in the living room...”

 

“You gotta watch sports with other guys, Fraser. It adds to the fun. You cheer for your guy, or gal, whatever. Kick back. Have a damned beer. Jeez... get into the spirit of things, once in your life.”

 

Ray shoulda known better. Fraser was trying to kill him. China. Really?

 

“I cannot believe you were a liaison officer,” he scowled into his own beer. “Your diplodocacie really sucks.”

 

“Diplomacy, Ray,” Fraser replied, undiplomatically, but at least slipping back into English.

 

Yeah, he could always get Fraser's attention by mangling his verbiage.

 

Shit. That big guy was coming over, a look of murder in his eyes.

 

“You gotta problem with Americans, buddy?”

 

“Why, not at all,” Fraser put his hand out, politely. “I'm Canadian myself, but my partner here is American.”

 

Ray leant sideways to Fraser's ear, about to mutter death threats, when he caught the look of disappointment on the barmaid's face. He cheered up immensely, grinned at her, and winked. With a flick of her shiny bangs (and boy, did she have a fabulous ass) she turned and stalked away.

 

The big guy stared at them, suspicion dawning on his brick red face. Jeez... he looked like he bench pressed sides of frozen beef as his morning warm up. “You guys faggots or what?”

 

“If by that, do you mean are we homosexuals, then...”

 

“What, you fancy a threesome? I hate to disappoint you, but you're not our type.”

 

Beef for brains turned his slow attention to Ray, as he tried to work out whether he had just been insulted, or come onto. Fairly obviously neither option appealed to him. He shook his ponderous head, looking like a younger, larger, brain damaged version of Lieutenant Welsh, clenched his jaw, raised a meaty fist.

 

Ray bounced up into boxing stance, grinning.

 

“Oh, good Lord,” Fraser's eyes went wide and surprised, like he'd suddenly got a clue that you don't cheer for China when you're a guest of the USA and surrounded by drunken patriots. And you don't flirt with pretty women just to piss off your boyfriend.

 

“Ray please don't...” Fraser put his hand on his arm, looking suitably apologetic, and somewhat alarmed. “I'm sure we can work this out...” Normally those puppy dog blues would have had Ray eating from his hand in no time. Unfortunately, Ray was still pissed, and Mr Lobotomy saw the expression on Ben's face, and sneered.

 

“What, you two gonna start French kissing?”

 

Nobody sneered at Ben. Except for him, when the situation called for it. Ray leant toward the dickhead, and puckered up his lips. “You want some?”

 

“Ray, really, this isn't worth our getting into a fight over...”

 

“You don't think I'm worth...” The meat slab was getting louder, and his friends were gathering, like villagers at a windmill with blazing torches. For some reason the dickhead was more pissed at Fraser for trying to ignore him than he was with Ray for trying to start a fight. He glared at Fraser, and swore. “You mother fucking...”

 

Oh. Shit. No.

 

Ray took one look at Fraser and... He swallowed. Yeah, he might be up for a fight, but not a blood bath.

 

“Er, buddy,” he warned the red neck. “You don't want to insult the man's mother...”

 

“Yeah? Well, what's he gonna do about it?”

 

It was like watching a car crash, in slow motion. The idiot macho fuck loomed over Fraser, like a zombie yearning for brains (which yeah, the guy could certainly use some) and made a filthy, if biologically improbable suggestion about his mom. Ray found himself praying to a God he was pretty sure had just abandoned them.

 

Fraser finished his beer in one long swallow, placed the bottle carefully on the bar, stood up, and smiled.

 

“Gan ni niang de pi yan.”

 

The barmaid's hands flew up to her mouth, and she made a choking noise.

 

Undeterred, Fraser continued. “Gan ni ma.”

 

“What the fuck does that mean, asshole?”

 

“This.” Fraser snapped his knee up hard between the guy's legs, and headbutted him sharply as he doubled over.

 

Ray's jaw dropped.

 

Fraser had just kneed a guy in the nuts.

 

“Duck, Ray.” A broad hand shoved down on his head, and Ray ducked, narrowly avoiding being hit as a bottle went flying past.

 

Okay. So it was gonna be a blood bath. Ray gave in to the inevitable, flashed Fraser a feral grin, and got in on the action.

...

 

Wei Lin was actually kinda sweet, when she wasn't vamping all over Fraser. And... well, he'd have to send her some flowers or something, cause if she hadn't dragged them to the kitchen they'd have both got arrested, and that would not have looked good on their personnel files.

 

“I am so sorry, Wei Lin,” Fraser said, mercifully in English. “I really had no intention to...”

 

“It's all right,” she grinned at them mischievously. “It's not my bar, and I'm on minimum wages. Besides, those guys have had it coming for a while now.”

 

“Really, we should stay and give statements...”

 

“Look,” she glared at him haughtily. “When I say climb out the window, you climb out the window, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Fraser said sheepishly. Ray shoved his ass impatiently, and toppled him through to the rain slick alley outside. There was a clatter, Fraser yelped, and a cat yowled.

 

“Thanks, Wei,” he said, and smiled. “Look, sorry for giving you the evils earlier, I was just...”

 

“It's okay. Just... don't come back for a while. And don't let your partner drink.”

 

“Yeah,” Ray laughed. “He can't exactly hold his liquor, can he?”

 

“Never seen anything like it.” She stared at him, her brain obviously boggling. “I mean, he only had one beer. And then, all of a sudden, he cracked.”

 

Yeah, that was Fraser all right. Kind, polite, buttoned down... one beer from cracking.

 

“Ray?” Fraser called plaintively from the alley. “Are you coming?”

 

“Go on,” Wei Lin pecked him on the cheek, and gave him a leg up onto the kitchen counter. “I'll go hold the cops off at the pass.”

 

Wow, Ray thought, as he scooted through the window. Fraser was the one who'd done all the flirting, and Ray got the kiss! When they got back home, he was so going to rub Fraser's face in it.

 

When they got home, of course, Fraser was suitably chastened, and Ray suitably smug. Guilty Fraser had a tendency to get very creative in his attempts to make things up to him. Ray wasn't about to forgive him yet. Not when blow jobs might be involved. Besides. He still hurt.

 

“Ow, Fraser, watch where you put that stuff. It stings.”

 

“It's anti bacterial. It's meant to sting, Ray.”

 

“Stingray. Huh, that's my super hero alias. Like...” he dropped his voice into a growl, “you're batman.”

 

“Ray, did you sustain a concussion? You're not making a lot of sense.”

 

“Jeez, did that guy break your funny bone, or what?”

 

“I'm relatively unscathed,” Fraser said, regretfully. Like he wanted to be beaten up even worse perhaps. Or like those bruises and scrapes didn't really count. Shit... Ray was a bastard. Or a perv or something. 'Cause Fraser was pretty damned sexy all messed up like that. And it wasn't like they both hadn't had worse. Actually, if Ray wasn't being a bastard he'd be putting ointment on Fraser's cut lip right now, and...

 

Maybe he'd just bite it.

 

Oh shit. He really was a perv.

 

“Hey, you're bleeding Frase,” Ray said, feeling pretty guilty himself. After all, he was the guy who'd started talking about threesomes, and kissing red necks. “Let me get that.”

 

“Oh, it's nothing.” Fraser licked his sore lip, and winced.

 

Oh yeah, there was a big guilt trip going on in Fraser land. Ray was definitely getting some tonight.  
…

 

Boy, that Canadian could get really vigorous when he was properly motivated...

…

 

“Ben,” he whispered, after he emerged from his sex coma. “I just gotta ask, what came over you tonight.”

 

“As I recall,” Fraser murmured, chuckling deep in his throat, “you did. Twice.”

 

“Hey,” he poked him hard in the chest with his finger. Fraser gasped. Oops. So, Ray was still pissed, but he hadn't actually meant to prod Fraser on a bruise.

 

He rolled over and turned the light on. Fraser was still looking kinda guilty. Which was... kinda hot.

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“You mean the bar fight? Well, the man insulted my mother...” Fraser blinked. “Though he was clearly inebriated, so I should have exercised more control.” He blinked again, looked stricken. “Oh good Lord. I insulted that man's mother. In two different regional dialects. What must Wei Lin think of me?”

 

“She'll never buy your Mountie in shining armour act, that's for sure.” Ray was trying his damnedest not to laugh.

 

Fraser, not surprisingly, didn't see the funny side. He lifted a hand to Ray's face, stroked his cheek. “Now you know why I don't drink.”

 

“Yeah. My fault. I shoulda remembered the last time.”

 

Fraser shut his eyes, groaned. “Don't remind me.”

 

“Hey, at least there are no liberated elephants roaming the streets this time.”

 

“Ray, don't...” Fraser hid his face between two hands. “And it wasn't streets, Ray. Even I wouldn't be that irresponsible. It was fields, and, it was 'elephant' in the singular, not plural, and she shouldn't even have been tied up like that in the first place...”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Don't worry. It all worked out. The ASPCA got involved, Nelly got rehomed, and the circus got shut down. And nobody found out it was you.”

 

Fraser cringed. “I will never, ever drink again.”

 

Ray bit his cheeks. Shit, if he started laughing he was never gonna stop. “Lightweight.”

 

“Sorry,” Fraser moaned, as though his intolerance of alcohol and intuitive ability to speak elephant were things he could help.

 

“Hey, Fraser, you can stop feeling guilty.”

 

“I don't feel guilty.”

 

“Yeah, you do.”

 

“I will confess to feeling somewhat stupid.”

 

“Yeah, I bet you do. And guilty.”

 

Fraser folded his arms across his bare chest, and tried to look Mountie calm. Bit difficult, under the circumstances, but he nearly carried it off. “How do you arrive at that conclusion?”

 

“Well,” Ray leant over him, smugly. “There's one tell tale sign. 'Cause I've had two happy endings, and Benton Buddy here,” he flicked Fraser's cock, affectionately, “is standing to attention, and you've not even touched him.” Which, was all kindsa sexy because Ray had been planning all along what he was gonna to do for Fraser when he finally forgave him. That, of course, was before he passed out from spongy form sex-bliss-it-is. It was kinda sweet that Fraser's friend down there had stayed awake and hopefully bobbing on his belly while Ray slept though. And it must be driving Fraser crazy, for all his trying to be cool. Maybe he deserved a reward... Or to be tortured.

 

Could end up being the same thing, really...

 

Ray's finger stroked Fraser's shaft, deliberately feather light, and tickly.

 

“Oh,” Fraser whimpered, getting, if anything, harder. “Er... yes. That.”

 

“Yeah, that.” Ray got onto his hands and knees, and crawled down the bed, positioning himself between Fraser's thighs. That lustful helpless expression was a really good look on Fraser. Ray was gonna have a lot of fun with this.

 

Still... one thing was bothering him. “I gotta know, Frase. Why did you cheer for Wu, anyway? It wasn't just to impress that pretty barmaid and piss me off, was it?”

 

“Not at all, Ray. That would be most unworthy.” Fraser was flushed all over, leaking from his tip, and pretty much shaking, but the bastard could still speak in complete sentences. Not fair... And, holy shit. He was still talking. “You suggested I get into the spirit of the event. So, in the spirit of the event I decided to pick a side with a reasonable chance of success. Canada at that stage could hope for no better than bronze, and I personally like Wu Minxia...”

 

“You like her?”

 

Fraser swallowed, and gave Ray a suspiciously apologetic glance through half lidded, barely focussed eyes. “I like her style, her character...”

 

Yeah, right. Ray scowled, irrationally jealous of a woman he'd never met. Figured Fraser would go for a perfectionist.

 

“Ray,” Fraser pleaded, his hips hitching, though he still (masochist) didn't touch himself. Instead he grabbed the sheets hard, clenched them.

 

Show no mercy.

 

“So, go on, Frase, tell me some more dirty words in Chinese.”

 

“I don't... I'm somewhat ashamed of that...”

 

“Go on, tell me what you want me to do in Chinese. See if I'm bilingual.”

 

Fraser let out a strangled noise as Ray touched him with the tip of his tongue. “Ray...”

 

“That's not Chinese,” Ray pointed out. “You're not getting any if I don't hear some filth, okay?”

 

“Oh, God...”

 

“That's not filth either.” Ray slapped Fraser's thigh, leaving a nice pink hand print. Fraser's hard-on bounced, oozing a translucent trickle on his belly. “And that's for blasphemy,” Ray said in his best Sean Connery voice, even though he knew the reference would be lost on Frase. Next time, he was gonna just watch Indiana Jones with him.

 

“Sorry, sorry...”

 

“Come on. Chinese. Filth. Now.” He hovered his face over Fraser's flushed hard on, and breathed.

 

Fraser grunted, and bit out a noise like “tsaoi,” which may or may not have been Chinese. It might just have been a Fraser losing it noise. Ray decided to assume it was Chinese, because he really wanted to give Fraser a little reward right now.

 

“Good boy,” he said, and slid his mouth over Fraser's cock. Fraser thrust convulsively up into him, and Ray slid off, grinning like a bastard, and clutched him hard. He was gonna make sure Fraser didn't come till he'd got quite a bit of cursing out of him. “Now what you gonna say? You want to come?”

 

“Yes, please, Ray,” Fraser said, panting like he'd just finished a marathon, shaking and sweating, and still so damned polite.

 

“Hey, you don't gimme what I want, and I'm never gonna let you come. Chinese.”

 

“Qing...”

 

“Hey, that's not a swear. I can tell the difference.”

 

“Bai tuo...”

 

“Stop fooling around Fraser,” Ray licked his lips, and pulled Fraser once, hard, then stopped, shoving down on his pelvis with his free arm, to stop him from thrusting. He lowered his voice, threateningly. “I can keep you hanging on like this till your heart gives out.”

 

“Wudayi,” Fraser groaned, squeezed his eyes shut. “Jian Wu guniang!”

 

“Hey, that's more like it.” Ray started pumping, hard enough to nearly hurt, slow enough to drive Fraser nearly mad with it. Beneath his forearm Fraser was trying to thrust, but Ray leant onto him, kept his hips down.

 

“Kuo...” Fraser was definitely stammering now, “kuo jiao.” His lip had started bleeding again. Musta bit it. “Shit, Ray...”

 

“Chinese,” Ray said, licking his lips at the sight of Fraser coming apart.

 

“Chui... chui xiao, chui xiao... Ray, please, please...”

 

Ray bent his head right down, slid Fraser all the way into his mouth, nose buried in his pubes (damn, that smelt good) and gave him the fiercest, hardest blow job he could manage. If they gave out medals for this, he'd be on the podium. He was a natural talent, and he knew it.

 

Quite what Fraser was yelling as he came didn't matter. No mistaking what it meant.

 

When Fraser finally got his voice back, and his ability to speak coherently in any language, Ray slid up next to him, put his head on his chest. Fraser's chest was wet, as though he'd just come up out of deep water, and his heart sounded like a big bass drum. I did that, Ray thought smugly. Then he frowned.

 

“So, you like the Chinese diver,” he asked.

 

“Wu Minxia? You... you already asked me that.”

 

“She scored a perfect ten, didn't she?”

 

Fraser shuffled down a little, turned his head, eyes blissfully closed, his breath fluttering against Ray's face as he spoke. “So do you, Ray,” he kissed the words into his ear. “So do you.”

 

Oh, yeah. Perfect Ten. Ray rolled, flinging a protective arm and leg over Fraser, snuggled up, and forgave him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the 'editor's cut' of Perfect Ten, posted on the compulsively inspirational ds_snippets. It's over ten times as long, and a thousand times filthier. Don't blame me, it's not my fault that Fraser can't hold his beer.
> 
> Oh yes, and congratulations to Wu Minxia! You rock, in any language.


End file.
